


bound - here, and to somewhere else

by quill_and_parchment



Series: A Sense of Adventure [5]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Archery, Double Life, Gen, Magic, Recovered Memories, Snow and Ice, but also hell, just another cool little drabble, one of my favorites actually, relationships only implied in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quill_and_parchment/pseuds/quill_and_parchment
Summary: She stares down the Devil, on his throne, in a realm red as blood and howling with the misery of countless lost souls, and -She blinks, and the view changes.
Series: A Sense of Adventure [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820728
Kudos: 2





	bound - here, and to somewhere else

"Esme, hurry," says Asra's voice, urgent, near her ear. "No one can hold this much magic for long."

She knows what he means. There is so much - raw, coursing through her like a tide - that she feels ephemeral, ethereal. No body of flesh and blood and bone, just a fragile vessel. She stares down the Devil, on his throne, in a realm red as blood and howling with the misery of countless lost souls, and -

She blinks, and the view changes.

She is in a valley, mountains rising like stoic generals all along the horizon. In front of her, a pine forest, stretching into infinity. Behind her, a wooden mansion and its stables. She is wading through a field covered in three feet of snow, panting, seeing her breath crystallize and become shape in air so cold it hurts to breathe it. She's wrapped in layers - thick fur-lined leather boots, a rough wool apron-dress over thick pants over thin ones, a fur cloak (she is happy to wear this, the lone wolf that had menaced the woods behind the house, endangered its creatures). Her hair flows freely; she carries a longbow and a quiver of arrows on her back. And in the field, only a few yards away, a roughly hewn log, standing on end. A target.

Esme is here and at the same time not here, and she knows this is a memory of her home, wherever it may be.

She stops in the field and catches her breath, considers what to practice today. _Fire, maybe?_ The snow would put it out, no cleaning up to do. From this distance, there is no danger of lighting the forest by accident.

She reaches over her shoulder, draws the bow, loads an arrow. The bow trembles; it is new, and she has to work a little harder to bend the wood to her will. She focuses, and magic begins to trickle down her arms into her fingers, into the arrow. The head of it lights, writhing with magical flame that spreads down the shaft, into the fletching that does not burn up.

Esme (or is that even her name?) lets the arrow fly, trailing the flame with it. It strikes the log dead-on, and she has just enough time to feel triumphant before it bursts completely into flames. _Oops._

In the realm of the Devil, magic so strong she feels like a vat of primordial magic soup, like her very cells are rioting, and then a feeling like a twig snapping underfoot, and it’s gone, and so is the vision - she sags, almost drops to her knees, and Julian is there, arms around her, supporting her weight, looking on in awe as the Devil slowly begins to turn to stone.

Her eyes flicker open, up at the snarling statue on the dais, standing before his dark throne, and she is relieved, and the memory of the field in the valley slips away like a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> A sneak peek: Thora [of thunder] Bildsdottir [daughter of the axe] of the Halsan kingdom.


End file.
